


The Burning Times

by saucytuggles



Category: Atnomen (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucytuggles/pseuds/saucytuggles
Summary: Rain's dreams of past, present, and future while he's trapped in stone.
Relationships: Rain/Lena
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	The Burning Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustKorppi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustKorppi/gifts).



**The Burning Times**

**Chapter 1, Conjuring**

**An Atnomen Fanfic by Saucy Tuggles**

**Atnomen can be read on Webtoons Canvas and Tapas**

**This is a derivative work based on some amazing characters owned by IlustrAriane.** ****

**_Dedicated to JustKorppi - Happy Birthday, You!!_ **

Prelude - outside Esslingen, Germany, 1562

The old woman was bleeding. Deep into the forest she had fled, in the night, to the secret parts, to the most sacred, hidden parts. To the tree where her sisters used to gather. She collapsed between its spreading roots onto a patch of ground soft with leaves and moss among the sharp edges of the night.

She caught her breath slowly. Her old lungs were not up to this task. She put her hand on the deeply ridged bark of the ancestor tree. This tree’s trunk was almost as big around as her small house, its many thick branches spread out and up, deeply interwoven, blocking out even the light of the stars. Without intention, she began a prayer, a conversation, as the touch of the bark against her fragile hand soothed her.

_Mother of all, help us. I am weak, I am nothing, but hear me now. Your children need you. Grandmother Tree, your roots go deep. Shield me, as I call the spirits forth on this night._

She slept for a time, waking in the hour before the dawn, when the spirits are moving. She crawled forward, her old bones stiff, and settled herself on a bare patch under the grandmother tree’s arching canopy. With a fallen branch she swept the litter away, making a circle around herself. She reached into her bundle, retrieving a pouch of salt, a pouch of dried corn finely ground, a skin of water, a short blade, a scrap of smooth hide, and a piece of charcoal.

_Ah, Mother, these trappings are not so important, only my heart and mind must call out straight and true._

Nonetheless, the old woman did as she had been taught. She sprinkled the corn in a circle, deosil. She added salt to the water and made another circle inside the first, widdershins. She did not rise and walk about in a grand circuit. She stayed on her knees, leaning forward, scooting in the direction she drew, muttering, until each small circle was complete.

She turned to the east, where the glow of the dawn could be barely seen reflecting off the multitude of trunks, here in the heart of the forest.

“Guardians of the bright lands, ancestors and spirits of the dawn, come, be with me now.“

She scooted to face the south.

“Guardians and ancestors of the warm lands, spirits of the growing world, be with me now.”

Turning to face the west, she grew tired, spoke as she leaned her hands on the cool earth.

“Guardians of the darkening west, the land of death and mystery, ancestors and spirits of the night, come, be with me now.”

Finally she turned to the north, her voice rising.

“Guardians of the cold places, of the wind and the white, ancestors, spirits of the enduring, hear me, please, be with me now!”

She turned again, into the center, into herself.

“ _Bitte_ , ancestors, spirits, grandmothers and grandfathers, guardians of the four sacred places, thank you. Bless you. I ask for your help, me, your child, help my voice travel and be heard. Everything I do, I do from love, not for myself, but for my sisters, my daughters, my Mother, and for the men we bear and love. My heart is breaking, lift my spirit up on your many hands.”

She took the skin and scratched the charcoal across it.

“Behold, I write the true name of the one I call.”

She lifted the blade and made a small cut on her thumb. She squeezed it to draw blood, then drew a red circle around the name on the skin. She pressed her thumb into her skirt to stop the bleeding, while with the other hand she kissed the name she had written. She climbed awkwardly to her feet.

She pressed the name to her chest, faced the directions in turn and in each direction she spoke the Demon’s true name, the name she had scrawled on the skin. After each repetition, she whispered, “Come to me.” Four times she spoke his name, then returned to face the east.

“By Lilith our Mother, by all that is holy and unholy, by the blood of my body, and the guardian spirits gathered today,” she spoke his true name once more, “COME TO ME.”

She lowered her hands, the skin clutched in her fingers. She bowed her head. Through the trees the horizon light glimmered like a broken silver line.

**“Woman. I am here.”**

She turned, and her legs collapsed beneath her. He stood by the trunk of the grandmother tree, his face in shadow. Enormous wings spread over him on either side, his size and bulk were terrifying. Darkness hung about him like a cloud. One hand reached out to her, blackened and tipped with eagle’s claws.

She cried with happiness to see him, reached her arms out to him. He stepped into the circle and lifted her gently into his arms.

**“My beauty, why have you called me here?”**

Her hand stroked his face. “Oh, my brother, the war against the wise women has begun. Even now they steal my sisters and break them on the wheel, I hear their cries from the fire.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She turned her face into his neck.

**“I have come a long, long way for you. I came because your call was filled with love. What would you have me do?”**

She gripped his hair. “Protect them, brother, protect the daughters of Lilith. The world has turned, and they seek to kill us all.”

**“You know I cannot make such a pact, unless I receive something in return. What do you offer in exchange?”**

The old woman cradled his face in her hands. “You have many names. Ahriman, Son of Lilith, Angel of the Shedim, Bearer of Zurvan’s Gift, and you will have many more. I, and all those who come after me, will give you the only thing you desire.” She put her lips on his. “Our love.” Her thin arms twined around his neck. “The love of our bodies, and our women’s hearts.”

He kissed her back, tasting her, looking into her eyes as if he could see into her.

**“The pact is done, Daughter of Lilith. I will defend our Mother’s daughters. Rest now.”**

He laid her under the grandmother tree.

She lifted her hand to him, gripped two of his fingers. “I do not have even a day left to me, Ahriman. I will use the time left to give you my blessing. Bless you. Bless you.” She kissed each deadly talon on his fingers, then lifted her face to see him. “I love you, Ahriman. My sisters will love you. This is how you will know them.” Her voice rattled in her throat. “Know them by their love for you.”

**"I will honor our contract. But I have come a long way. I do not know this place. What is this land?”**

“Deutcheland.”

 **“What is this tree? It is strong.”** His face turned to the grandmother tree.

“Oak. An oak.” She coughed, her breath weakening.

He turned his head toward a delicate trill. A small flash of yellow flitted from branch to branch in the oak.

**“What is this pretty song? It is bright and beautiful.”**

“That’s the song…” she sighed, her hand fell to her breast. “…the song of the canary.”

Chapter 1 - present day

The storm surged outside the ruined cathedral, lashed through the roofless structure, cold water pooling amid the rotted furniture and ancient tumbled stones. Rivulets streamed down the sharply angled cheeks of the statue, an illusion of tears. But the water neither entered nor moved the statue of darkness and terror, of evil personified.

Deep inside the stone, the Demon dreamed. A promise, an old woman, a kiss. Thunder broke overhead, the sound shaking the foundations of the old church. The tremor disturbed the sleeping Demon, and he woke, once again, into paralysis.

Frozen in this daylight, he roared his frustration, his helpless fury unheard. Through stone eyes he saw the cold deluge, and deep blackness moved across his mind. She would not come today. She would not run through the storm, arriving with her golden curls plastered to her face. She would not twist into his cold arms, touch his stone body with her human warmth. She would not smile at him with love. She would not call him “Rain.”

It was many hours yet until night fell. He held a picture of her softness in his mind, and deep inside the prison of his body, he waited.


End file.
